Category Archives: Poetry

Sam’s Bad Dream

I wondered once why infants have bad dreams who haven’t lived enough to learn to fear, and what comprises puppy nightmare themes, and how a kitten monster could appear. And I don’t have an answer, but I know it’s true … Continue reading →

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Revisits

As I review assorted escapades of youth, of 12, 16, and 21, I clearly see they feature tones and shades of sexual predation. What was done was never charged: too mild then and, too, I thought myself mature and strong … Continue reading →

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Before

The feelings I remember from my youth were anger and impatience with my lot of noodgy mom, protective dad – in truth, if I’d sufficient freedom, I forgot (and that’s not likely – I recorded notes in poems and diaries … Continue reading →

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Keeping It Simple

You want it simple? There is no conspiracy. In truth it’s all lies.

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Forecasting

I’ve heard it’s hard to forecast over sea: the ocean brings surprises to the West. The instruments detect a tendency, but here my window tells the weather best. My phone says we’ll have clouds but I see rain outside, and … Continue reading →

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Ambiversion

I claimed I was an introvert, before I gave the subject tests and further thought. “Gregarious but loner” was the score assumed by me, and to my children taught. They nodded, stating they were otherwise, but after we stopped trying … Continue reading →

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The Ages of Advice

I early understood the righteous path away from murk and chaos, tending toward fierce honesty. I bellowed truth with wrath and passion – then my wisdom got ignored. In middle life I learned it wasn’t bad to be so disregarded, … Continue reading →

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Love Among Young Cousins

The gentleman was young and shy and sweet. The lady was his junior by four years. His attitude was courtly, hers replete with burning quests for answers. It appears that theirs were kindred minds, but unmatched themes in fact. Their … Continue reading →

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The Thing Is

I want to give this observation tongue: (I’m lately often somnolent or cold) – they say that youth is wasted on the young, but leisure’s seldom useful to the old.

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Being Me (Then)

To tell the truth, I’ve had some lonely nights, an adolescence frustrating and long, a prime so stressed and busy that delights were interrupted, sacrificed to strong responsibilities, or else occurred but didn’t meet anticipation then. Oh there were dismal … Continue reading →

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